When Grey Turns White
by Muscarie
Summary: Starts during the Two Towers. Gandalf dies and is reborn as Gandalf the White, while Arwen chooses mortality. Her mind is swept away with a mission: to bring the new Istar home before it is too late. But how will she complete a mission she knows nothing of, and in a world where the dead walk the Earth?
1. Too late

**Disclaimer= I own nothing of the Lord of the Rings. I decided to start publishing this as a bit of a challenge. It is set during the Two Towers and messes with the timeline a bit. Gandalf has been reborn but he has not met Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli yet, so they think he is dead. Frodo and Sam have left on their own, and Merry and Pippin are still with the Orcs. Back in Rivendell, Arwen has made her choice and she has chosen mortality. Her mind is then unexpectedly sent away to another world with a mission = to bring back a new Istar (wizard), except she doesn't know about that, the new Istar does not speak any languages of Middle Earth, and that Istar lives in a world overrun by zombies (zombies improve any plot). **

**Also, itallics indicate either Elvish when between speech marks, and thouhts otherwise. Hopefully it won't be too confusing!**

**I would like to apologise in advance for any butcherring of the English language. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

As usual, Gandalf had been late. He had ridden fast and hard, but again, it was not the travelling which had taken him the most time, it was the inquisiting. Had he been quicker in his wits, had he trusted his judgement instead of looking for proofs, Arwen Undomiel would still be here. Instead, she was gone, the Evenstar had vanished, and instead of a regal king Elessar they would have a distraught dunedain ranger. He was always late. It took him far too long to work things out, and in the past few years he had always arrived barely in time to prevent disasters. It was true for the trolls, it was true for the One Ring. Each time, he had barely made it. This time, he had not. As he had entered the legendary city of Imladris, Gandalf had known. The air was still and crisp, the corridors were silent, and the Elven world was struck into silence for there were no words which could express the lost of the Evenstar. Lord Elrond stood next to his daughter' still, soulless body, and the twins Elladan and Elrohir were gripping her hands in distress. Arwen laid still as a marble carving, beautiful in her foreign state. Gandalf had come to warn them off a prophecy, yet the prophecy had come to life before he had even had the chance to tell. Arwen Undomiel had gone.

Arwen sat up. She had been stirred from sleep by a strange noise which came from somewhere ahead, though her vision had not cleared enough for her to judge with exactitude. She blinked in the blinding sun, and sheltered her eyes with a long slender hand. A silhouette was walking towards her. Well, it hoovered more than it walked. Her eyes finally ajusted and she could not repress a gasp of surprise as she took in the appearance of the Man before her. For it had been a Man, originally, but was so horridly amputed and damaged that it barely looked living at all. It wobbled onto broken ankles and a dislocated shoulder barely held a half eaten arm along its side, and the Man was so disfigured that Arwen felt bile rising to her throat. She could count each tooth on the Man's jaw. It was a vision of horror and her first reaction was to scrumble to her feet and move back. She caught herself, though. The Man's free arm was reaching towards her as it struggled to get to her, no doubt asking for help.

"_Are you.._." She started in Elvish but quickly turned to the Common Tongue. "Are you in need of assistance, sir?"

The creature, the Man, she corrected herself, was so badly disfigured from the jaw down that it, he, could no longer speak. He was producing revulsing, guttural sounds similar to that of an Irch, and was walking on its broken ankles without seeming to mind the seering pain it must have been causing him. He kept on extending his free hand towards her.

"Sir, I understand that a terrible accident has befallen you, my name is Arwen of Imladris, I believe you call it Rivendell?" She knew she was rambling, she had to calm him down so she could decide what to do next, and determine where they both were. She needed to figure out what had happened to him and whether or not who, or what had caused him such harm were still nearby and she should be getting them both to safety.

"I am the daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, my father is a renowned healer, let me take you to him and he shall help." The Man did not seem to catch her words, or if he did he did not show any intelligible reaction to them, and why was he not stopping?

"Why not sit down, sir? You are in great need of a rest and I shall do my best to assist you until my father gets here..." Wherever _here_ was.

As the Man kept walking and was getting closer and closer to her, the stench emanating from his decaying body finally reached her like a slap in the face. He smelt of a thousand rotting corpses on a battlefield, like a dead rodent left in the sun and the rain and suddenly discovered after days. She could not smell sweat thought, which did startle her a bit as the air around them felt incredibly hot._ It must be summer_, she thought, _and we must be out of Imladris, for the air there is always fair_. She took a step back. Arwen was a few thousand years old, and it took a lot to make her take a step back. Yes, she was a lady, and yes, she had stayed sheltered away in her father's city, but she was nearly as old as the world, and she did not fret easy. The stench from the Man reminded her distantly of how her mother the lady Celebrian had smelt when her brothers had brought her back from the Irch den. Celebrian had smelt of sweat, though, and tears, and the stench was sticking to her but did not in fact come from her very flesh. This Man was stench itself. She gagged. The Man's eyes shone a strange light, a vivid want which seemed to glow brighter with desperation as he got nearer. Arwen raised her hand. She wished for her father, she wished for her brothers, she wished for Estel. None came.

"Please..." She said, her palms facing the Man, trying to appease him. _Please_, she thought with shame, _do not touch me_.

Suddenly, the heavy footsteps of another Man ran past her and a flurry of grey and brown jumped in front of her and pushed her harshly to the ground. The flash of a blade shone out of nowhere and the stranger caught the injured Man's broken jaw with one hand, and with the other plunged the knife right through the Man's eye, far up, to the tilt, right into the Man's brain. The guttural noises which had been growing in urgency as the stranger had stepped closer to the Man abruptly stopped, and the now dead body fell to the ground in a heavy thump. The stranger followed its fall, his hand still attached to the knife, and he placed a hand onto the dead Man's forehead and used this as a counterweight while he pulled the blade out in a single, swift motion accompanied by a wet noise. The Man straightened up and looked back at her. For the second time that day, and in a few centuries, Arwen gasped in surprise. It was not a Man per say that stood before her, but a _daughter_ of Man. She was dressed in breeches and an ample tunic which had a small hood attached to it, had hair only down to her collarbone, like a man, but this was definitely a daughter of Man. _A woman_, Arwen recalled the Common Tongue word for it. The woman was still holding the knife, and she was staring at Arwen with what the Elven lady read as an expression of bewilderement. They remained silent for a few seconds, then the woman suddenly barked something at Arwen, making her jump. The woman repeated what she had just said, no, barked was definitely the right word, and seeing that Arwen was just staring af her in confusion she repeated the same thing in a slower, softer voice. Arwen was only able to tell that it was the same words being said, but for the life of her she had no idea what language was being spoken at her. It rang a little bit like the Common Tongue, but she could not catch a word. It was not Rohirrim, for she knew that language, it was not Khuzdul, it was not any kind of Elvish. The woman looked like she could be Gondorian, though, but again, she was not speaking any known language of Middle Earth.

The woman seemed to grow more irritated with Arwen's lack of reaction, and the Evenstar suddenly came back to her senses. This woman had just killed an injured man. Arwen stood up as the woman walked towards her, and this had the expected effect: the Elven lady was taller than the woman, and this startled the human into a halt.

"Why have you done that?" Demanded Arwen. The woman was still holding her knife, and Arwen could see another, longer blade with a square end hanging at the human's belt, but she was no longer frightened. This was a human.

"Why have you done that?" She repeated, pointing at the dead Man. "He is dead now, dead!"

There was probably a lot to read on the woman's face, but Arwen had spent too long amongst smooth, Elven faces, and she had lost her confidence when reading Men' s incredibly varied range of facial expressions. The dead Man had not seemed frightened to see the woman arrive, in fact, for a split second it had looked like he had made to walk towards her instead, but Arwen was wondering if this woman was the one who had injured the Man so badly in the first place. Arwen looked down at the corpse. It looked like it had been tortured for a long time, and, if she knew it to be possible, Arwen would have said that he looked like he had been dead for a long while too. She looked up at the woman in front of her. She was of regular height, for a daughter of Man, and had short brown hair and large blue-grey eyes. Her light eyes stood out in her dirt covered face, which was heavily freckled too. She seemed fairly young, yet Arwen always struggled to work out the age of mortal creatures. The woman's face seemed smooth, indicating youth, yet her gaze was no innovent maiden's gaze, and the freckles made it even harder for the Elleth to determine an age. Her blue-grey eyes stared unfalteringly, hauntingly back at her. Arwen could tell the woman was surprised to see her, but not frightened. She saw the woman's eyes look her up and down, taking in the heavy, beautiful velvet dress she was wearing, then her eyes looked at Arwen' s very long, dark hair, and then the Elven lady could swear the daughter of man had looked at her cheeks and arms as if to measure how well fed she was. Arwen felt cold run down her back, she had heard of wild Men living in the mountains, Men who had no rules to live by and who sometimes ate the flesh of their ennemies. This woman looked scrawny, and she did look hungry. Instinctively, the elleth reached for the blade which could have been hung at her belt. The woman must have caught her gesture because she sheefted her own knife into some sort of strap around her thigh, then held both her hands up, palms opened, and her gaze softened as she started speaking in her language again, walking slowly towards her. Arwen's gaze shifted to the blade at the woman's hip.


	2. The rumour

**Again, I own nothing, and I apologise for any butchering of the language. Think I forgot to mention that I chose Arwen as the "bringer" of the next Istar (my OC) because I usually struggle with finding her a great role in stories, and so it would be a bit of challenge to have her as a main character. Also forgot to mention that this story is part AU, part LOTR, and will probably be a legomance eventually (but not just).**

**Bit of a explanatory chapter, necessary evil!  
**

**Enjoy!**

"Mithrandir!" Cried Elladan as he saw Gandalf enter the room. "Arwen has collapsed, her hands are cold as frost and she does not know us, yet her light is not too dimmed. We know not what has befallen her!"

"I feared I would not arrive in time to warn you, Elladan, Elrohir. I have have been delayed."

Gandalf walked over to the bed where laid Arwen Undomiel, but he did not risk touch her for he feared dark magic would use the enchanted lady as a means of reaching him. Instead, Gandalf walked past her, and felt the magic buzzing around the lady's lifeless body, before he went to sit down near the bed. From his chair, Gandalf could see all four members of the house of Elrond, their dark hair and pale figures as emblematic of Imladris as were the fountains and the soft melodies. Once upon a time, a tall blond figure had stood amongst them, with a face as mirhful as Elrond's face was grave. How joyful the descendants of Earendil had been then! Now, the lady of Rivendell had passed to the West, and she had left four grave strangers behind her. Gandalf risked a glance at Lord Elrond. He stood as still as his daughter laid, looking down at her, his face betraying no inner turmoil.

"What was it you needed to warn us about, Gandalf?" Said Elrond, his voice cold and distant. The wizard cringed. Already, he could see how the Elven lord had easily slipped back into the persona, a healer foreign to all emotional suffering, which had got him through his wife's illness and had survived her departing to the West. Gandalf knew Elrond would display no anger towards him, and he knew he would not need to accomodate for tears. This made him feel even worse, for that matter. He deserved anger and tears.

"I heard... I heard, of a rumor. Nothing more than a whisper, coming from far, far up North. But a whisper so swift it was being colported far East as well, where I heard of it. A whisper which had turned into a song amongst the Harradrim during the dark nights of the desert. A rumor which motivated the Haradrim to march upon our lands. I had to investigate."

"And what did you find, Gandalf?" Asked Elrohir, who had spoken yet.

Like his father, Elhorir mostly addressed Gandalf by his common name rather than his Elvish one. He was seating on the other side of the bed, silent yet stricken with grief. Where Elladan was all cries and laments and anger, Elrohir was a silent sufferer. Gandalf had the vision of the two brothers riding accross plains in search of their lost mother, Elrohir silent and determined, Elladan letting his temper get the better of him whenever they happened upon an isolated orc.

"I found... I went all the way up North, beyond the mountains, beyond the Frozen Sea. Beyond any Wild Men settlement. They too had heard of a strange rumor and were growing in excitement. The rumor was good news for the allies of Mordor, you see."

"But what did the rumor say, Mithrandir?" Interrupted Elladan.

"The rumor said... That there must always be five Istari walking Middle Earth. That four was an incomplete number, but that the fifth Istar was not to be found in these lands. Now before I go on, I feel that I must explain why I am speaking of four Istari. As you know, Elladan, there are the two blue wizards in the East, and there is Radagast the Brown, and Gandalf the Grey, and Saruman the White. Five Istari. Saruman has betrayed the order, as you know, and I was defeated by the Balrog in the mines of Moria. With Saruman no longer considered an Istar by the Vala due to his betrayal, I was brought back, and now I am Gandalf the White. Saruman is not yet dead, yet he is longer the White. There is an Istar missing, for if this rumor is true the Valar needs five Istari in the Order, and therefore another Istar will be brought forth." He marked a short pause, and let the slight bewilderement and excitement appear in his voice. "This has not happened since the beginning of this world!"

The elves were silent.

"The rumor said that the new Istar would be retrieved from a very, very distant land, and that until then the balance would be shaken and our forces, weakened. Now I know that you must be wondering why I am telling you this when you are grieving for a daughter, and a sister, and the whole of the Elven world is grieving for its Evenstar. The reason is, the rumor said that this new Istar was from so far away that the Valar themselves could not bring them, and that they would send a mortal daughter of the house of Earendil, to retrieve the Istar and bring them back to us."

He had all three elves looking him now, and he tried not to let himself feel thrilled by it. He had always loved to make an impression.

"The signs... They were all there, and I should have read them sooner. Saruman had left the Order, I had been brought back from the dead to replace him. An Istar cannot simply disppear. Were we to fall, we would be replaced. As for the mortal daughter of the house of Earendil, well, anyone who has heard of the great love between Aragorn son of Arathorn and Arwen Undomiel..."

He felt the air in the room still, and only his sense of guilt for being late prevented the wizard from rolling his eyes. Arwen and Aragorn was something written in the stars, something inevitable, something which the Valar had requested and there would be a reason for it. Elven jaws could clench as much as they wanted, it had only been a matter of time before Arwen gave up immortality.

"Well, when I heard of a mortal daughter of Earendil I thought of the choice made by Luthien, and, naturally, I thought of the lady Arwen. I had hope to arrive before Arwen had made her choice, in order to erm, to warn her, that there was a high chance she might be swept away with a mission." He gulped. "It seems I was too slow. I believe the lady Arwen has left us in spirit, and she is somewhere very far away, in the land of the new Istar. Her body still lives, and her spirit will come back to its house once she has found and brought the Istar."

"Does she know?" Asked Elladan.

"I do not know."

"Where has she gone?"

"I do not know, Elladan."

"Can we speak to her? Let her know what she needs to do to come back?"

"I do not know. I shall try to find her spirit and then I shall try to converse with it. I cannot assure you any of this will work. However, what I am absolutely certain of is that the ennemy is right to think that the fading of the Evenstar will cast a shadow accross all elven kingdoms and will affect their determination to fight, therefore I believe that the news of Arwen departing to this foreign land must not leave Rivendell. This prophecy must be treated as nothing more than a rumor, and we must show no distress. I will do my best to contact Arwen, but then she will be on her own, for I will have to meet some old friends who think me dead too."

He stood.

"Lord Elrond, pass word that the lady Arwen is not dead, and that she shall be back soon. Tell the city that as far as the rest of the world is concerned, the lady Arwen is sawing a banner for the future king Elessar to brandish into Mordor. Tend to your daughter's body, and do not show yourself upset."

"You said you would meet old friends, Gandalf, do they include Aragorn?", said Elrond, and something in his voice told the wizard Elrond would not be showing emotion anytime soon.

"Aragorn shall not know."

"Shan't he know what he has caused?" Or maybe he would.

"Aragorn is our only hope to unite all peoples", Gandalf chose his words carefully. "The disppearance of Arwen will shatter any hope he still holds, and without a king to lead them the people of Middle Earth will let themselves be defeated. Aragorn shall not know, Aragorn must not know."

His words were met with only silence, and the wizard suddenly felt the weight of the years on his shoulders. He was old as the world, and could feel it in his very bones. He felt like Gandalf the Grey once again, except that Gandalf the Grey never seemed to have that much to worry about. Gandalf the White was always grave.

"Now,", he said, walking towards the bed, "may I have a look?"

An imperciptible nod of Lord Elrond's face, and the wizard delicately placed his hand on Arwen's brow. The surge did not take long. Through a haze, Gandalf saw Arwen standing in a clearing, in the very same clothes she wore while lying on her bed in Rivendell. He saw a human woman standing in front of her, and he knew, he knew this was the Istar. He saw a dead shape on the floor, horribly disfigured, and he saw Arwen diving for the blade at the Istar's hip, and saw the Istar move faster than a daughter of Man would, picking something at her belt, something made of dark metal, and hit Arwen accross the face with it. Arwen stumbled back, startled, and the woman held the object up in the air, and the object exploded in a noise so loud it sent the wizard back into Rivendell. He fell and was caught by one of the breath was escaping him, his ears were ringing but the words could not leave his mouth fast enough:

"The Istar was found!"


	3. Arwen

**Chapter 3. Arwen gets to see who she's ended up with! And we have a look at our new Istar. Itallics indicate thought or another language.**

**Enjoy!**

Marzia wasted no time. Flashing her gun at the strange woman, she told her that if she tried anything similar again she would not hesitate to explode her brains. She then fired at the zombie's head for good mesure, demonstrating. She picked up her machete, and gestured at the woman to turn around, which she did. She then used the machete as a stick and pushed at the woman's back, urging her to move forward.

"Walk", she said, and she did her best to sound like Jeff would have done. It came more naturally as days went by. "And shut up".

She knew it was damn near suicidal to fire a gun unless you absolutely needed to, but who knows what that crazy woman would have done with the machete. If anything, the craziest part of this was to not have killed the woman. No one had time to waste on loonies. But first things first, instead of pondering on the psychological reasons behind her not killing the weird woman, Marzia had to get them away, and fast. Between the shouting and the shooting, the zombies would definitely have heard them.

"Move" she said, pushing the machete more insistently against the woman's shoulderblades.

_Bloody hell, she is scared out of her skin_, Marzia thought. She could feel the shivers reverberating through her machete and into her hand. They walked on. Whenever Marzia needed the woman to turn, she would slap her arm with the flat of the blade. When they got to the house, Marzia told the woman to stop, then she pulled her gun out again and gestured at the woman to wait where she was. The poor thing was flinching away, her eyes wide with fear, looking everywhere but at the gun, and Marzia could swear she was trying to count the flowers. Walking backwards, Marzia went to the door and knocked according to the group' secret code. She felt more than she heard Leonor walk to the door in her socks, as silent as a cat, peep through the hole, swear under her breath then unlock the door.

"What the hell, Marzia?"

"I know," said Marzia, " I found her standing on her own in the clearing near the road, a zombie was coming at her and she was just standing there, talking to it."

"So you brought her here? You see some weird girl chatting to a zombie and you bring her to us?"

As usual, Leonor's logic made Marzia feel like an absolute fool. She did not reply, and instead walked over to the woman who cowered as she got nearer, grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the house.

"She's harmless," she said, not looking Leonor in the eye.

The woman tripped on the steps and Marzia felt her resistance at being pulled into the house, but she did not allow herself to feel compassion. That girl would soon realise that if there was a house to be pulled in, it would be theirs. Marzia marched into the living room, pulled a chair with one hand and pushed the woman on it with the other. She stepped back.

"She is really scared of guns" she told Leonor.

"Oh really? How weird" replied the Spaniard sarcastically.

Marzia refused to let herself blush.

"I mean, it was like she had never seen one before"

Pushed by sudden inspiration, Marzia waved the gun at the woman again then deposited it on the table by the tv. As she had expected, the woman, instead of shifting her attention to the two girls, shied away from the gun and, still refusing to look directly at it, leaned away from it and towards the girls.

"Weird" said Leonor, and Marzia thought that if she was more confident and had better wits she would find a hilarious and humiliating comeback which would make fun of how Leonor kept on using the word "weird" all the bloody time ever since she had learnt it. But Marzia knew that Leonor would snap something back which would effectively shut Marzia up for good, so instead, she said:

"It's like she thinks the gun is the one who does the thinking"

"She don't speak English?" Asked Leonor.

"No, she doesn't," replied Marzia. _And neither do you_, she added in thought.

Leonor may have been quicker with words but Marzia's English was still the best.

"What's her name? What's with the dress?" Continued Leonor.

Marzia shrugged, and Leonor took a couple of steps towards the woman, picked a sweet voice and asked more slowly and more loudly:

"What- is -your- name?"

Sheltered from her friend's eyes, Marzia rolled hers. So now Leonor had decided it was ok after all to bring a stranger in?

"I am Leonor," the latter said, pointing at herself. "Leh-o-norr. And this is Marzia. Marr-thee-ah".

Damn her accent, it was Mar-dzee-a, not Marthea...

"What's your name?"

I Tarzan, you Jane, thought Marzia with venom. Trust Leornor to steal her spotlight!

"_Im Arwen Undomiel_" the woman said. "Arwen".

The woman, Arwen, was looking at them both now, confusion clearly written on her face. And what a face it was! There was absolutely no flaw on her smooth, white skin, and she was tall and slim, very graceful, and had long dark hair which fell down to her waist. She wore what was probably the most impractical dress in the history of dresses. It looked like it was made of something heavy, like velvet, went all the way down to her feet, which were bare, and had gigantic, flowy sleeves made of silk. It was red, too, as if it did not attract enough attention as it was. In fact, the woman looked like some sort of medieval princess. Maybe this was all a joke, maybe there was a camera outside, maybe these past ten months or so had all been some massive joke for a reality tv program, and Arwen was a hired actress come to torment them further. She looked like Snow White, this was ridiculous.

"I need to speak to you" demanded Leonor, and she left to the open plan kitchen, certain to be followed.

Marzia pointed at the gun on the table, and turned it so the hole was directed at Arwen. She motioned to her lips to indicate silence, then pointed at the chair, then pointed at the gun. Arwen nodded.

"She looks like she was eating well" said Leonor once they were both in the kitchen, looking at Arwen from over the bar.

"Yes, she does look like she _has been_ eating well"

"Where do you think she was all this time? Why does she not speak English? Do you think she is insane?"

"She doesn't look insane..." Then, seeing the look her friend was giving her: "I mean, usually crazy people you see look like they can't manage themselves, they're dirty and they've wet their pants, their hair is bad and they mumble to themselves, she doesn't do any of that though does she? Maybe yeah, maybe she was kept somewhere all this time, maybe she was in a coma or something, and now she is awake and she has no idea what is happening"

"Yeah... She was woken up by her prince's kiss"

Fuck off, thought Marzia. She looked over to Arwen. She was still on her chair, flinching away from the gun, stealing glances at it then looking away. That was when Marzia saw them. Arwen's ears.

"_Cazzo_" she breathed, and tapped Leonor's arm roughly. "Look at her ears!"

When Arwen had turned to look at them, the heavy curtain of her hair had fallen back a bit, revealing an ear with a pointed tip.

"_Joder_", said Leonor, "you're right, she must have been kept somewhere, she must have been kept somewhere by some weirdo who mutilated her ears!"

The three women stared at each other in stunned and confused silence, until Arwen's ear twiched, actually _twitched_, and they all heard heavy footsteps at the door followed by the group's code. Arwen' s face turned sharply towards the door and she must have forgotten about the gun momentarily because she slipped onto her feet and moved back towards the kitchen. The door opened before any of the two girls had time to go to it, and in barged Thomas, Fred and Moira.

"You girls ok? We heard shooting and you left the door open!"

They all came to an abrupt stop when they saw Arwen standing there. Fred opened his mouth as if to say "what the fuck" but Marzia interrupted him:

"That's Arwen. I found her in the woods, we don't know who she is or where she is from, but we know she doesn't know what a gun is and she hasn't heard about zombies. Nor trousers, apparently."

Thomas let out a nervous snort.

"I was the one to shoot, I shot at a zombie, it was coming at her and she didn't know what to do"

That was quite far from the truth, but who was going to correct her? Certainly not Arwen, even if she could speak.

"Is she mute?" Asked Fred.

"No, she speaks, but we don't think she can speak English"

"Well get her to speak then, see where she's from" urged Fred, "have you tried Spanish and Italian on her?"

Leonor and Marzia glanced at each other. Good point.

"We only just got here, we haven't had the chance yet but we were going to" said Leonor. Then, she turned to Arwen. "Arwen, ¿_hablas español_?" No reaction. "Nope. Marzia, your turn."

"Arwen, _parla italiano?"_ Arwen just frowned.

"_Deutcsh_?" Cut in Thomas. "_Français_? What else do we know?"

Arwen just looked at them and shook her head.

"She can tell we're changing language" said Marzia, "she doesn't speak any of them though."

Inspiration struck her again, and she called Arwen's name.

"_English_", she said while pointing to her mouth, then the others', "_italiano_" she said, pointing only at her mouth and exaggerating the sonority, "_español_", while pointing at Leonor's mouth and stereotyping what Spanish sounded like to her, "_Deutsh_" she said, and Thomas pointed to his own mouth, "English, English" and Moira and Fred pointed at their mouths. "English" she said again, pointing at everyone. "Arwen?" She inquired, and she knew Arwen had understood.

"_Quenya_." Arwen said, a finger on her lip. "_Sindar. Westron. Rohirrim_"

"What?"

"That's what she speaks". _Duh_.

"These aren't even languages"

"Yeah well maybe they're all dialects. Maybe they're aren't real, maybe they're in her head. Whatever. At least we are getting somewhere, she knows it is talking we are trying to do to her"

Marzia had not forgotten the look of fear and anger on Arwen's face as she had killed the zombie, nor had she forgotten the shivers so strong they shook the machete as Arwen was led to this strange house.

"What do we do with her?" Said Moira. "Keep her with us?"

"Can't really just kick her out" said Thomas. "Are you sure she's ok?" He asked Marzia.

The young woman thought of how Arwen had scared the living lights out of her when she had moved faster than anyone she had ever seen and grabbed the machete at her belt. It was only because the machete was kept in such a way that it could only be pulled out swiftly from one specific angle that Marzia had had the time to get her gun out, otherwise Arwen would easily have won. Marzia looked at Arwen, and she knew Arwen knew what was being discussed, and knew what Marzia was thinking about.

"Yeah", she said finally, nodding in order for Arwen to catch her decision, "yeah, she's ok".

She smiled stifly at Arwen, whose lips twiched hesitantly in return.


	4. The three hunters

**Fourth chapter! We get to see where Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli are, and we learn how Arwen is going to have to bring Marzia to Middle Earth.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

"Have you seen her, Mithrandir? Pray tell! Was she well?" cried Elrohir as his brother pulled Gandalf to his feet.

"I have seen her, Elrohir, and she was with the Istar. The Istar is female" he added, surprise clearly expressed in his voice. A female Istar, this was unheard of.

"You say you have seen her, Mithrandir, but was she well?"

Gandalf thought of Arwen being hit accross the face, and struggled not to show any hesitation when he said:

"I believe she was, yes. She stood in this very gown, in a clearing which does not belong to Middle Earth. The Istar was with her."

"What were they... Were they speaking?" Inquired Elladan.

The wizard thought of the fight, he thought of the corpse on the ground.

"I... I believe they were interacting, yes."

"Have you spoken to either of them, Gandalf?" asked Elrond, and when the wizard shook his head, he continued: "you must try again. It is good news Arwen has found the Istar already, but what good will it be if neither knows who the other is? You must reach her again, and you must speak to her Gandalf."

"Mithrandir is exhausted, father" said Elladan.

And Gandalf did feel exhausted, in fact, he felt drained, and he had only been looking into Arwen's mind for a few seconds.

"How long was I gone?" He asked the elves.

"A few minutes, maybe ten or fifteen?"

"Really? How peculiar. Only a few seconds had passed in the Istar's world when I was pushed back here. I do feel exhausted, in fact, I will have to choose my words carefully when I speak to Arwen otherwise I fear I may not have the strenght to return to my own body afterwards. I must tell Arwen she has found the Istar, and that she must bring her to us."

"How will Arwen bring the Istar to us if they both are in another world?" Elrohir, always on track.

"The sea," said Gandalf, "I have found... This." He pulled out a little, worn out book from his robes, and placed it delicately on Arwen's bed. "This is the history of the Istari. What we are, how we were brought here, our purpose and abilities. It is a very secret book, not for anyone to keep, and I have had it with me for a long, long time. But when I went to the North to investigate the rumor, I found another page, which I have now added to the book." The wizard opened the book carefully, at a page towards the end. "I will read it to you.

_"When the fifth falls, _

_And grey turns to white, _

_When the daughter of Eärendil, _

_Makes the choice of the nightingale, _

_Then, from the sea, _

_Must be brought the Lost Pilgrim, _

_And with them the Order will be restored." _

Silence met his last verse. Truly, Gandalf had recited more than he had read, for he had repeated the words so many times in his head while riding Shadowfax that they were engraved in his memory for good.

"The sea", breathed Elrohir. "Arwen must bring the Istar to the sea... And then?"

"And then, the Valar shall decide." Replied Gandalf in a confident voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, the old wizard saw Lord Elrond throw him a look which meant he was not fooled for a second. He knew the Valar was Gandalf's last retort, the answer he gave when he could find no other. But truly, Gandalf believed that only the Valar could help Arwen now.

"I will try again"

Miles away, running, sweating and cursing their way through the great plains of Rohan, the three hunters remained ignorant of what had befallen the house of Eärendil. They ran accross plains and valleys, through wind and night, stopping only as little as was absolutely necessary. They sometimes spoke, sometimes urged each other on, sometimes they remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

Gimli son of Gloin thought of the glory that would come from such a chase, once he got home and all of this huffing and puffing would be nothing more than a great story to tell above a good pint of ale. He thought of what he would do to the Uruk-Hai once he got his hands on them, and dared not think about the state in which they would find the hobbit lads.

Aragorn son of Arathorn did not allow his thoughts to stir from their purpose: to read the ground, the stones, the grass, the dust, in search of signs as to where Merry and Pippin had been taken to. He violently repressed any other, counter productive thought, and said thoughts came back to haunt him at night when he allowed himself to sleep. Thoughts of Frodo looking at him in fear, thoughts of Gandalf slipping down an endless abyss, thoughts of Boromir's plea for Gondor, thoughts of Boromir dying... Thoughts of Arwen Undomiel, fairest of all Elven maidens, whose heart was as pure as she was beautiful, Arwen seeing so much worth in him, of all people, that she had given him the gift of her love, and her trust, and a token of her affection to wear proudly around his neck. Aragorn tried not to think of how unworthy of such a gift he was, especially now that he had lost Gandalf, Frodo and Sam, Boromir, Merry and Pippin. Surely Arwen would rise one day and realise what a sorry excuse for a ranger he was. Aragorn shook his head, and focused his thoughts on the pain in his joints instead, and the signs to read in the dry soil.

The third hunter, Legolas Thranduilion, was probably the worst off, as he had no pain to distract him from his cursed thoughts. Ever since the company had departed Lothlorien, he had not been able to stop thinking about the lady Galadriel's last words to him: Legolas Greenleaf, long you have lived under the trees Beware of the Sea! If you hear the cry of the gull on the shore, Your heart shall then rest in the forest no more. He twisted and turned the words over and over again in his head, trying to decipher their meaning, trying to understand what they would do to his life. He could not imagine living away from the forest, and he loved Mirkwood so dearly, despite the darkness, despite the spiders, and could not bear the thought of being parted from it. Trees were life, trees were colour, the sea was grey, it was pure destruction. T_he forest is Tauriel_, whispered his mind to him, and Legolas shook his head. He had thought of Tauriel long enough, and what good had it done to him? _It is Tauriel you refuse to leave, but in your heart you can already feel it, the call of the ocean, the sweet whispers of the sea_.

Legolas forced his legs to work faster, and he outrun his companions to climb onto a rock and look forward.

"Legolas, what do you see?" Inquired Aragorn.

"They are taking the hobbits to Isengard" replied the elf.

"Isengard", repeated the Dunedain, more to himself than to his fellow hunters.

Both of them knew they were only doing this for the form, in order to keep away from their respective thoughts. Of course they were taking the hobbits to Isengard.

"It is good we have two pairs of eyes and two sets of vocal cords to let us know if the sun is down or up", grumbled Gimli from behind his beard, and Legolas heard him.

It seemed that the dwarf was a lot less thick than he appeared at first, and he had seen through Aragorn's and Legolas' mascarade a long time ago. The elf prince wondered if Gimli was ever plagued with his own negative thoughts, and if so, how he coped with them. At least the lady of the woods had said kind words to him, not predicted his doom. But still, as time went past the elf found himself growing less and less irritated with the dwarf, and even, on occasions such as this one, found himself struggling not to laugh at Gimli's wits. The dwarf was incredibly funny, if one took the time to listen. Hot headed and stubborn, yes, but also very perceptive, and with a sense of timing that defied any renowned clown.

"I see clouds up in the sky, master Elf, master Ranger!" shouted Gimli in a mystical voice, and Legolas was thankful that no one could see the smirk which forced itself onto his lips.

They stopped that evening, between two rocks and under a bushy set of stones, sheltered both from wind and preying eyes. They did light a fire but promised to kill it as soon as full darkness descended. For the moment, in the dim light of twilight, they allowed themselves to boil some water for a stew. Aragorn was in charge of the meal that night, keeping as busy as was humanly possible.

"We might as well", said Gimli, who stood behind Aragorn and watched his every move, "we cannot possibly run as well as we have been so far on empty stomachs. 'Tis a shame there is not meat, though" he added, and his voice took on the same tone it did when he spoke of the lady Galadriel.

"And we cannot possibly run as well as we have been so far on too full a stomach, Gimli" replied Aragorn darkly.

If it had been up to him, they would have stopped for a twenty minutes long nap then carried on.

"Perhaps Gimli is suggesting we rolled on our stomachs instead, to save our legs doing all the work" said Legolas light heartedly, and Gimli looked up at him sharply, and the air stilled, then crinkles adorned the corner of his eyes and he chuckled.

"Aye, master Elf, and that would be a race I would beat you both at!"

Even Aragorn had to give in a smile at this. They ate, and Gimli smoked, and then the dwarf laid down onto his back and soon enough he was snoring softly. Aragorn and Legolas remained seated around the dying fire, silent as the stones.

"We do not have to stay all night," said Legolas, and although he had spoken in the softest voice Aragorn had jumped. "We could sleep for a couple of hours, then set off again."

"Do you not feel the strain, Legolas?" asked Aragorn.

"I must admit that I am starting to, but I understand that each second counts." Aragorn nodded but kept on looking at him. "I feel that each time we slow down, my thoughts are catching up with me" confided Legolas in an even lower voice. "I cannot stop thinking about the lady Galadriel's words to me. She has made me fear the sea. She has made me fear myself!" He stopped, slightly breathless, surprised at his own boldness.

He prayed for Aragorn to say something, and the ranger must have felt his discomfort for he said:

"The lady's words speak the truth, and if there is one thing we must not fear, it is truth, for it is unavoidable. Do not fear, _mellon nin_, the truth needs not be an ennemy."

The fire had nearly died down, now, and they could barely see each other' shape in the dark.

"I must admit that my own thoughts have been plaguing my dreams" admitted Aragorn.

Legolas did not tell him he had heard the ranger twisting and turning in the dark, each night since they had left the Golden Woods.

"It is a heavy weight which has been placed on your shoulders, Aragorn" conceded the Elf. _And an even heavier one around your neck_, he added in thought. "But more than a weight, it is a gift, I truly believe so."

The ranger looked at him, and it seemed to Legolas that his friend's eyes were shining ice cold grey in the darkness, and they both knew what Legolas had really been speaking of.

"A great gift indeed. A gift perhaps too great for a ranger?" said Aragorn at length.

Legolas was about to reply when Gimli made them both jump out of their skin when he said at normal volume:

"Could the two master trackers allow poor old Gimli the gift of a well deserved sleep, perhaps?"

That night the three hunters slept well.

**I love me some Gimli. Next: more zombies!**


	5. The scream

**As promised, more zombies. It will probably be a couple more chapters or so before we move on to Middle Earth for good, and even then I think I might figure out something to have a bit of a double story, some in ME and some in this world. I must admit I am enjoying having Arwen describe this strange world! If there is anything that is unclear about the plot and is not meant to be, let me know and I will do my best to explain.**

**Watch out for the gore.**

**Chapter 5, enjoy**!

Arwen was trying her best to look anywhere but at the woman's... Backside.

These strangers, these Men, were all dressed in the strangest attires she had ever seen. The women, especially. There were three of them.

Marzia was the one she had met first, then there was Leonor and Moira. Leonor was short and very slim, she had very straight, dark hair, and almond shaped brown eyes. Her skin was olive, like the women from the Eastern borders of Gondor. She had a loud voice and a quick temper. The other woman, Moira, had very short blond hair and big blue eyes. She had a soft voice and seemed to be lost in her thoughts most of the time. All three women wore what seemed to be men's clothes. Breeches made of something coarse, either grey or black, and so incredibly tight around their legs and backsides! They wore big stocky boots, covered in dried mud, and tunics that were either black or grey, too. Once inside the house, they had taken these thick tunics off, revealing another layer of tunic which was short at the waist, and sleeveless. You could see their arms! And shoulders! Also, all three of them had hair shorter than any woman she had ever seen: it went no further than their collarbone, and the blond one had hair as short as the men's, whose hair was cut right at the root, showing their ears.

But what really startled Arwen, was the way the three women held themselves. The whole dynamic of the group was extremely disturbing. It was like they were all male. The girls moved about with confidence, they were upfront in everything they did and addressed the men like they were all just a bunch of lads. They seemed rough, but their teeth were white, like lords and ladies of Men. She had thought them wild Men at first, but had been forced to reconsider once she had realised that they were very hygienic people who, overall, seemed rather civilised.

However, Arwen quickly realised that the house they were staying in was not their house. There were portraits on the wall, of people with similar haircuts and clothing, but none were her captors. The portraits were of an unbelievable quality, it truly was like looking straight into the person's eyes, and in fact Arwen found them so disturbingly real that they had started making her feel ill at ease. She wondered what had happened to these people, and whether her captors had chased them out, killed them, or mutilated them like the poor Man she had seen in the woods. Fairly quickly, they had decided that she should change. The three girls had taken her upstairs, then opened a drawer and a wardrobe, pointed at the clothes then pointed at Arwen while barking in their language. When Arwen had refused, and slapped away any hand that tried to pull at her dress, the girls had waved the Horrible Thing at her, the one that exploded in anger and hurt your ears, and if Its eye was directed at you It made your head explode like it was nothing more than a watermelon. So Arwen had changed, and they tried giving her clothes that were like theirs, but after a while Marzia, the freckled one, seemed to have understood her discomfort and she gave Arwen a longer tunic for the top, one which ran way past her hips. She gave her leggings, too, though they were made of a very different material to any she had ever seen before.

As she saw the others pack various items and some food into bags, Arwen realised they would be leaving soon and would probably be travelling by foot (she had seen no trace of a horse), hence why they required her to wear something more adapted to travel. As the two other girls left to find her some shoes (they all seemed extremely shocked at her bare feet), Marzia, the one who spoke _italiano_, stayed behind to watch Arwen. She still had the Thing in her hand, though Its eye was facing down. The daughter of Man was leaning against the doorframe and was watching intently as Arwen combed her hair and tried to tie it away from her face, without any ribbons to help. No one had offered her any food yet. Seating down in front of a mirror, she was doing her best to do her hair without looking at the woman's reflection. The girl said something, suddenly, and Arwen shrugged.

"I do not understand"

The girl then pointed at Arwen's ears, mimicked the snapping of a pair of scissors with her fingers, and whimpered "ow, ow!". Arwen had to turn around and stare at that. She saw the girl's cheeks grow pink under her incredulous gaze, and as the girl was about to repeat her actions she said:

"My ears are not cut, and no, they do not hurt."

"Huh?"

"My ears", she touched her ears, "are not cut", she shook her head and mimicked scissors with her fingers too, feeling like a fool. "Not cut".

"Not cut" repeated the girl, and Arwen was surprised at how well she had imitated her accent.

"I was born like this. You see? I am an Elf. An elleth. You are a Man, I am an elleth. Do you understand? When I... when Arwen was a baby," she brought her arms together under her chest as if cradling an infant, " a _baby_, my ears were already like this", pointing at her ears.

Marzia seemed to understand, though she did not seem to believe her. She was looking at Arwen's hair, now, and pointed at it. She pointed at it again, until Arwen said:

"My hair?"

"My hair?"

"Hair, _my_ hair," Arwen was holding her dark tresses, "_your_ hair" she said, pointing at Marzia's tangled mess. "Hair. Do you understand?"

"Your hair..." Started Marzia, then she made a gesture as if to follow something that went all the way down to the floor.

"Long. My hair is long." Agreed Arwen.

Then Marzia did something which seriously impressed the Evenstar: she picked the words they had been saying, and put them into her own sentence.

"My hair not is long"

"No, your hair is not long." For a minute there, Arwen had forgotten she was talking to a killer.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, and Arwen kept on combing her hair, then Marzia started speaking again.

"Marzia, _italiano_." She held her own hair, "_italiano_, _capelli_. Hair, Quen...qunn...?"

"It is Common Tongue. I am speaking to you in the Common Tongue. The word for hair in Quennya is..."

She abruptly stopped, as she suddenly realised what Marzia was trying to do. The human was testing her, to see if she was really speaking a language that existed, or just making up words as she went along. Marzia seemed to read her thoughts as they dawned on her, and she looked sheepishly down at the ground. That was when the two other girls came back holding the strangest shoes Arwen had ever seen. Fluffly ones with fake rabbit ears at the top.

"Arwen?" Asked Marzia, pointing at her feet.

"Feet?"

"Your feet is long" said Marzia, and she repeated what she had just said to the other two who laughed.

"My feet are not long!" Huffed Arwen with hurt dignity.

"Is long", laughed Marzia. "Is long, Arwen long" she said, throwing the shoes over to the elleth.

_It is this day that is getting long_, thought Arwen as she slipped her feet into the strange shoes. She had to admit they were incredibly soft and comfortable.

They set off shortly after. Arwen realised that Marzia was not the only one to walk around with an Exploding Eye at her belt, the two men had one each as well. They did not seem phased by the Eyes, they just handled them like they were not dangerous, which made Arwen think that maybe, the Eyes were not that dangerous, maybe they were no more than objects, activated by the person who carried them. This still did not explain how the dead Man's head had exploded, _exploded_, when Marzia had pointed her Eye at it. And then again, Marzia and Leonor had been treating the Eye like it was a conscious being. _Around you only, perhaps,_ she thought.

As they walked, the group seemed very much on edge, they looked around and walked at a brisk, nervous pace, anxiety rolling off of them like waves. Arwen took the opportunity to try and figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered was feeling ill, and sitting down on her bed because she felt dizzy. She had blamed her newly acquired mortality for this strange and sudden unease. She did not remember going anywhere. The trees around her were nothing special, they could be found anywhere around Rivendell. The house she had been brought into however seemed very exotic. It looked nothing lile any house of Man she had seen, it was big, almost as large as a small palace, and full of objects she had never seen before. Her captors had seemed very much at ease there, which meant that, somewhere in Middle Earth, this was all perfectly normal. _But where was she_?

Marzia kept on looking back towards her to check if she was still there, and Arwen had to admit she found the gesture touching. She was getting nervous herself, because she was the only one in the company without a weapon, and they all acted like there were orcs all around them ready to jump at them at any moment. Arwen wondered why they did not just stay in the house, this was probably the safest place to be. Marzia had tried to explain, she thought, but this time they had not managed to understand each other and the woman had given up, and pushed her out of the house and into the woods. Her new clothes made it easier to walk, but she still held her red gown in her arms. The strange shoes were soft, despite their fake rabbit ears, but their soles were not made of the hardest material and Arwen could feel all the little stones and twigs on the road. The road they followed was mostly a path, then, eventually, they decided to leave the path and venture into the woods.

Arwen' shoes grew more and more irritating as the rabbit ears just kept on getting caught in branches and dry grass. She noticed that, for Men, they were rather quiet when they walked, or that they were making a very conscious effort to keep silent. Whenever they talked, they whispered, and there was one thing which Marzia had managed to make her understand: "be quiet".

After hours of awkward walking and tense shoulders, one of the men stopped, looked around, his hand up, and the others froze too, looking around in a panicked state. They all stilled, listened intently, then Arwen heard it too: a crack, a shufling, something moving through the woods. She saw that the man who had stopped first had heard it too, as well as the blond woman, and they were looking around trying to figure out where it came from. More shufling was heard, and this time Arwen definitely heard some sort of breathing sound.

They all came closer together, weapons in hands, though not the Eyes, their back to each other, scanning the surrounding trees. Arwen was pulled into the centre of the circle by the woman called Leonor. They waited. It was clear that the humans could hear something but that they could not quite figure out where the nnoises were coming from. Arwen raised her hand and pointed towards the source of the shufling, her elven ears telling her that whatever was coming was breathing heavily, walking on a broken leg, and it was not coming on its own. Upon Arwen' signal, the Men all looked in the direction she was indicating, and soon enough, Arwen distinguished shapes, human shapes, hovering on injured legs and moving towards them.

The creatures were grunting, and their bodies were in different states of decomposition. She realised they were just like the very first Man she had seen when she had woken up in this cursed land. She could practically smell the fear and anger rolling off of her captors, and she felt them grip their blades with more intention. Then, one of the males moved forward, towards the first, the fastest, of the injured Men, and, raising his blade (the same kind of blade Marzia had in her hand: a squarish balde, slightly rusted, which seemed designed to cut through branches rather than bones), he let his arm fall in one great move, and the rusty blade cut through the Man' skull, and brownish blood squirted on Fred's top and onto the nearby trees.

Then all hell broke loose.

Under Arwen's eyes, all the Men darted towards the injured and started cutting through skulls, diving knives into eyes, kicking on heads until they gave in. Arwen stood motionless, too stunned to do anything. She had started thinking these people somewhat decent, then this... This _mess_, had happened.

The women were just as ruthless as the men, and Marzia had brown blood on her shoes and her forearms. Eventually it all quieted down, and the Men looked around, counting themselves. Arwen was just so shocked by it all that she did not even register the shufling footsteps creeping up behind her, and it was only when the blond woman shouted at her that she suddenly snapped out of it, turned around to find herself face to face with another injured Man. The Man was grunting, his eyes were dead, the skin stuck to his bones, and Arwen became vaguely aware that this had been a female, and a very young one at that. The young human extended her arms towards her, no doubt pleading for help or mercy. There was a great deal of shouting going on behind her, but Arwen kept her eyes fixed on the little girl, and her eyes filled with tears as she took in the horrible damages on the girl's body. Arwen had never seen such suffering. She did not understand it. How the girl was still walking was completely beyond her. Then, a great explosion was heard, and something went past her ear so fast the whistling of it through the air nearly deafened her, and the little girl's head exploded as if in slow motion under the Evenstar's eyes, and Arwen's pale face was covered in smelly, rotting blood and bits of brain.

She screamed.


	6. The Istar

**Penultimate chapter to this first part. Again, watch out for the gore, and I do not own much. Next chapter will be the last for this part of the story, and I will explain what I was thinking of doing with it afterwards. All I can say for sure is that I will stop torturing the poor Arwen ;)**

**It is just so hard to get characters to communicate when they don't speak each other's language, pfff! Hopefully I have managed to make it believable enough.**

**Sorry again if I abuse the English language, I don't mean to!**

**Hope you enjoy :)**

Marzia lowered her arm.

This was the third time she had had to fire the gun in only a day, and she knew the others would be very upset with her. The air went still, then Arwen screamed, screamed at the top of her lungs, and they all jumped, their hearts beating even faster in their ribcages. Fred was the first to react, as usual, and he ran to Arwen and covered her mouth with his hand, his fingers slipping over the blood, stifling her screams. The others looked around in panic, and Leonor said: "someone just hit her, we have to go!"

Arwen just kept on screaming, and now she was sobbing as well, wriggling in Fred's arms trying to break free. Fred was struggling to keep her still, she was nearly as tall as he was. Hating himself for it, Thomas moved forward and stood before Arwen, then he raised his gun and put it against Arwen's temple.

"Be quiet" he said, and Arwen did stop screaming, though she kept on sobbing softly.

Marzia could see that this had been a very difficult thing to do for Thomas, for was such a soft soul. Fred released Arwen and stepped back, glaring at her.

"We have to leave her here, Marz, " he said. Marzia hated to be called Marz."She's mad."

"She doesn't know what they are" said Moira, "She thinks we're hurting them"

"Yeah, and we haven't got time to waste with that" said Leonor in a shaky voice. " And we haven't got bullets either. Maybe she really should go" she told Marzia in a lower voice.

"Maybe" admitted Marzia.

Her shoulder had already started to hurt from the kickback. She tried not to feel thrilled by the fact that she had hit target, _right between the eyes_.

"Let's leave that decision for later" said Moira. "We need to get going, and fast"

They set off again, Marzia pulling Arwen's arm. The woman seemed to have given up on resisting, and had stopped crying. She was looking around with a stunned, emotionless expression on her face, and Marzia could not repress the intense wave of pity she felt for the woman. The poor thing had no idea. They ran and ran until their feet blistered, and passed a few cabins in the woods but did not stop. They could not afford to stop. They nearly ran into a horde of zombies, but luckily managed to all hide behind trees and bushes as the horde walked right past them, back towards the spot where the shooting and screaming had taken place. They ran and ran, and ran some more, then they ran into a fence, dugged under it and pulled at it until they made an opening, then they crawled under it and ran through what must have been a lovely garden then towards an empty looking house.

When they reached the house, they slipped into their normal roles: Moira and Leonor took watch (and watch of Arwen too), the three others dropped their bags on the floor and got their weapons at the ready. Marzia knocked on the door, they all waited in silence, listening out for any noise coming from inside the house. As they heard nothing, the two boys went in first, and Marzia followed. They checked each room then shut and blocked each exit as it had been cleared, then walked back to the front door and picked up their things, then the whole group, plus Arwen, walked into the house. They blocked the front door.

As Arwen was still stunned into unreaction, they sat her on a chair where they could see her, and started their usual job of scavanging for any edible food or usuable item. Arwen was still covered in blood. Fred used some bottled water found in a cupboard to wash the blood off his hands, all the while throwing angry looks in Arwen's direction. When he was done, Marzia took the bottle, emptied it in a big bowl then took to one of the downstairs bathrooms they had discovered. This one smelled like dogs, and had probably been used as the "dogs' room" back when life was still going on. She came back to the living room and gently coaxed Arwen into following her. Arwen walked like she had forgotten she could, and kept on looking at things as if through a haze. Marzia sat Arwen down on the toilet, then showed her the water. She picked up a towel and started wiping the blood off Arwen's face, but with surprising speed and strength Arwen's hand shot up and caught her wrist. She took the towel off Marzia and started cleaning her own face and arms.

Marzia stood there for a couple of seconds, not knowing what to do, then she supposed she should probably leave Arwen alone, so she left. _But first_, she thought, and she came back into the room.

"Arwen, look."

Arwen looked up. What a sight she was, her pretty face all covered in blood, dry bits of brain in her lovely hair. Surrounded by red, her eyes shone a brighter blue, and Marzia knew she would not rest until she had managed to make Arwen see _why_ they killed zombies.

"_Arwen, Common Tongue, what?"_ She asked forcefully, mimicking an eating motion with her hand.

"_Eat_" replied Arwen weakly. It was like she had simply given up and would just take whatever was thrown at her.

_"Arwen, see, the dead?_" And the human mimed the noise of the gun as she had shot the two severely injured people.

"_Yes, I remember you killing people. Killing_", she repeated the key word. _Killer_.

"_Arwen not understand. Not people. I killing dead. Dead eat Arwen. Do you understand?_"

No, she did not. She needed to think, and to clean herself.

"_I killing not people. Not people. Dead, dead not speaking, dead eat, eat people. I not killing, dead eat Arwen. Eat Leonor, eat I. Do you understand?_"

Then Arwen thought she understood, but her reason refused to accept it.

"_These people are dead? And they eat people, that's why you kill them?_"

"_Yes, see? Dead eat_", and she imitated the way the injured had walked towards them with unlit eyes and feverish groans. "_Eat Arwen. I killing dead, dead not eat Arwen_."

Marzia was utterly exhausted. Finishing her rant, she bowed mockingly to Arwen, said in English "you're welcome", then exited the room without a glance back.

She went back to the main room, where the four others seemed to be having a very lively conversation. They stopped talking as she walked in. Moira and Thomas busied themselves with shutting all curtains while trying to make it look like there was no one in the house. Marzia searched Leonor's eyes, and her friend shrugged and gave her a small smile. It was just like being back in secondary school, when people talked about Marzia and her friends tried to act like nothing was happening.

"I'll just say it" said Leonor, who was not one to pretend for long. "We all think Arwen is crazy, and she is becoming dangerous because of her craziness. We are going to leave this house in the morning and keep moving, and we are going to leave her here too. You're coming with us right?"

Marzia looked at her friend. Ever since they had met, they had gone everywhere together, they always travelled together. And ever since the world had ended, they had been on the road together too. Sometimes they met other people, sometimes these people felt like they had managed to get between them, but in the end, it was always Leonor and Marzia against the world. If Leonor left, Marzia would, too. _But what if I stay? Will she stay?_ wondered Marzia. _Are you willing to take that risk?_ replied her mind.

"I'll go with you." She said, and Leonor' shoulders lost some tension. Suddenly, a crash was heard from the bathroom, and Marzia guessed Arwen had dropped the bowl. "I'll go", she offered, and no one contested that.

As she went back to the smelly bathroom, Marzia could have sworn she could hear not one, but two voices coming from the room. Cautiously, her heart picking up its adrenaline fueled rhythm again, she took her knife out and held it close to her head as she walked towards the room. She placed her hand delicately on the door handle, heard Arwen whispering in her invented language, then she violently pushed the door open and stepped in, her knife at striking height. No one. Just Arwen, sitting there, looking surprised to see her, and water splattered on the floor.

"Who were you talking to?" Demanded the girl. Then, remembering that Arwen's act of not understanding English was particularly elaborate, she said: "Arwen blabla, what? Blabla Thomas? Blabla with who?"

Arwen just shook her head, and Marzia started patrolling around the room, looking out the windows. Nothing.

"Marzia"

Marzia froze. Arwen did not_ start conversations_ with her.

She turned to look at the pale woman and was a bit stunned to see that Arwen was looking straight at her, not with her usual mixture of bewilderement and repulsion, but with something close to awe, and respect. It was like she was seeing her for the first time.

"Marzia" she repeated, and her voice had picked up an almost feverish tone. She rose to her feet, she was still wearing those silly bunny slippers (the only 'shoes' big enough for her long feet), and grasped Marzia's arms.

"Are you ok, Arwen?"

"_I am well_" said Arwen, and she looked like she had a billion things to say but did not know where to start.

"_Arwen well?_" Repeated Marzia, dumbly. What on Earth had gone on in the loony's mind now?

Then the words suddenly poured out of Arwen's mouth like lava.

_ "Marzia, you are her, you are the lost pilgrim! The Istar, we thought you would be male, well in fact we never believed your story would come to life... You are the Lady of the Sea, we have to go to the sea, you will help us, there is a great war going on and much is at risk, you must come with me, oh, Mithrandir said to bring you to the sea and that a barge would be there, waiting for you! It will bring you back, we must go to the sea. Do you understand? The sea!_"

The human was just staring at her blankly, and Arwen caught her grey eyes glancing at the door, plotting her escape. Well, grey eyes, they were not so grey now, more of a blueish colour, with hints of green, but then the Istar looked at her again and the light coming from the twilight shone her eyes grey. Their colour were changeable, like that of the sea. _Aërriel, the lady of the sea, the lost pilgrim! Oh, if only the Valar had warned me!_

"_The sea!_" Said Arwen, and, inspired by Marzia's actions earlier, she pointed at the water on the floor, and tried to mime a lot of water.

"_Water, water Marzia, do you understand? A lot, a lot of water, the sea! Do you understand?"_

Judging from the way the Istar was looking at her, as if Arwen had grown an extra head, the elleth turned to desperate measures and imitated the cry of a seagull. Arwen Undomiel,_ cackling like a seagull_. For a split second, the Istar looked like she was just going to hit Arwen in the face, but understanding suddenly lit up her strange eyes and she said:

"_Oh, I understand, the sea! Arwen wants to go to the sea!"_

"_Yes, yes!"_

"_No._" Replied Marzia.

_ "No?"_

_ "No, Arwen see, not see_" said the human in an exaggeratingly soothing voice.

Arwen followed her gaze through the windows and saw that it was dark.

_"Yes, it is night now, but tomorrow? Tomorrow we set off to the sea?"_

_ "Tomorrow we set off to the sea"_ repeated Marzia, and her forced smile, white teeth catching the fading light and reflecting it in the dark, was not at all encouraging.

She pulled Arwen along with her and led her into the main room, which was just as strange as the one they had found in the previous house, and sat Arwen onto a sofa.

"_Tomorrow we set off to the sea, now Arwen..._" And she put her hand together under her cheek and pretended to snore.

_ "I am not tired"_ said Arwen as she tried to sit up, but the Istar forced her back down, and, with a hand on her brow, she said :

_"Arwen so tired"_ and at once Arwen did feel extremely tired.

She felt her eyes flutter and close, as her consciousness escaped her, and the last coherent thought she had was that this was definitely a wizard, to put her to sleep like she was nothing more than a stubborn child... That night her captors left her to sleep on her own in the main room, and they moved to the upstairs rooms, though she was too deeply asleep to notice. Gandalf visited her in her dreams, and told her to go West, for this was where the sea would be found. He told her to hurry, and he told her that he would not be visiting again as he had matters to attend to. A single tear escaped Arwen's eye as her dreams were filled with Aragorn, his voice, his smile, the way he said her name.

She clung to her dreams, and she neither heard nor saw the hoovering shape creeping its way into the house in the grey light of dawn, and she did not see it tripping over to her sleeping form.

**DUN DUN DUUUUN**


	7. The Friend

**Oook, so this is the final chapter of Part 1. Look to the very end for a preview of part 2. I have no idea when (and if) I will be writing and posting part 2, considering that my holidays are nearly over.**

**Thank very much to the people who have reviewed/followed/favourited this story :) I am aware that I ramble a lot, and I really want to thank you for acknowledging this story. You've made my week :)**

**Anyways, on with the story. In this chapter we will get to leave the apocalyptic land in which the new Istar has been found, and Arwen's nightmare will finally come to an end. She has done really well, hasn't she? A very long chapter today, sorry. I take back everything I have ever said about Arwen, she is a very interesting and complex character to write about.**

**Look out for gore and language again, and bad grammar. I own nothing.**

Aragorn felt angry.

No, angry was not the word, he felt crushed, cheated, impotent, unworthy, abandoned, weak, powerless, and above all, he felt extremely tired. In his rage, he had kicked a helmet and shouted out his frustration. The other two were keeping their distance now, for they had never seen him angry before. Aragorn never showed anger.

How could he not be angry, though? After all this work, all these sleepless nights, all these efforts to find the two hobbits, they had earned... A pile of smoking remains.

"We burnt all the bodies, it was night time and we did see your friends"

Damn the Rohirrim, damn lord Eomer and his quick temper, damn the Uruks, damn the war. Damn him for not being quick enough. He could not be trusted with two hobbits, and now the world wanted him to lead a kingdom? What were the Valar playing at? He glanced at the charred bodies. There was no way they would even be able to dismantle Merry' and Pippin's bodies from the rest. He looked away from the remains, and to tried to distract himself from the tears of frustration which were gathering at the corner of his eyes.

"A hobbit was lying there," he said, "and another here."

Tiny traces in the dust, a bent grass. A squashed flower. Two squashed flowers, more traces.

"They crawled," he breathed, crawling himself.

Traces. Dust. Flowers. A dead beetle. Dust. And suddenly he saw.

_Pippin rolled to the side as the gigantic horse's legs beat the air and then fell right where he had been. Merry was crawling away, and he reached a forgotten blade in the grass. He used it to cut his hands free, then Pippin's. Around them, it was pure chaos. The noise from the running horses was deafeningly loud, and the disorganised Uruks were dying like flies. A body fell heavily onto Merry's body, and Pippin pushed it off. They crawled. A spear of Man was thrown at them, and Merry shoved Pippin out of the way. The Man was about to strike again, but got pulled off his horse by an orc. The hobbits crawled, crawled for all their might. There was a forrest nearby, its tall trees promising safety. They were so close they could feel the cool air emanating from it. They got up. They ran. _

"Fangorn" said Aragorn. And so, the three hunters walked into the unwelcoming darkness of Fangorn.

Meanwhile, miles away from them, a man who was both young and old was sailing along the northern coasts, looking for something.

The reason why this man was said to be both young and old was simple: Bain, for that was his name, was half-Man, half-Dwarf. He was 78 years old, and this was old by human standards but young by dwarvish ones. Therefore, Bain considered himself both young and old. Similarly, he was both tall and short, hairy and smooth-faced, stubborn and changeable. Everything that defined you, he had realised, depended on the company you were with.

What was not subject to argument, however, was that Bain was a bloody good sailor. He had sailed all the seas, all the rivers, along pirates and captains, and all races roaming Middle Earth. He had known Gandalf the Grey, but it was Gandalf the White who had to find him with a mission. Sail accross the Western coasts of the Great Sea, scan the horizon and look for a barge containing a daughter of Man. Do not touch the daughter of Man, but leave her in her barge, shelter her from prying eyes with a blanket and tow her along the rivers, all the way to the ancient forrest of Fangorn. And he would have to take the long route, as well, because all rivers in the South were either too close to Gondor or too close to Mordor. Bain was to take the Gwathlo, then cross the mountains, then join the great river Anduin, then finally turn off into the forrest. The White Wizard would await him there. Now why would a busy and free spirit like and Bain the half-Dwarf, half-Man accept such an awkward and straining mission? Well, it so happened that Bain owed his very existence to Gandalf the Grey, as the old wizard had saved his father's life, many years before, thus ensuring Bain's eventual birth, but the young man-dwarf had not had the chance to thank Gandalf the Grey, and so he would repay Gandalf the White instead. Now the human side of him would argue that considering that Bain had not yet been born, he did not have anything to feel indebted to Gandalf, but his dwarvish side knew to recognize a debt when he saw one, and in this case the dwarvish side had won. Also, his sister Tilda had decided they would go. There was no argument, Bain would sail and scan and tow.

When Arwen had lost her immortality, she had expected to feel something very intense, like a flash of pain or a violent headache.

Instead, she found that nothing much had changed and she did not feel any different. At first.

Slowly, insidiously, mortality had dawned on her. The air was cooler, then it was hotter. The ground was harsher under her feet. Birdsongs were not as easy to hear. She could hardly count the highest leaves of a tree. She felt thirst and hunger more vividly. She coughed. Her fingers felt cold, her skin disliked the sun. Her hair, even, kept on getting knots. She tripped. Everything seemed to be reminding her that from now on, she was going to grow weaker and weaker, greyer and greyer, until she would fade, in illness or in age. Her life was as fragile as a Man's, like a candle flame in the autumn breeze. But she did not fear, for as the world grew more hostile, Aragorn grew nearer, and she felt that their lives were gaining in colour, and food was growing in flavour, and the future was a clearer thing, and plans would come to life, and life itself was fiercer now it was being treatened by time. She had given up immortality, and now she could feel it, the survival instinct, the want to live which sprang all mortal beings into action.

So maybe it had been this newly found desire for life which had awakened her at dawn that day, just in time to see, and hear, and smell, the dead Man looming over her, gripping her foot and biting into her shoe.

Arwen gasped, and jumped back so fast her head hit the wall behind her. She rolled off the couch and tried kicking at the dead Man's head, but its teeth seemed to be very deeply stuck in the fake rabbit ears on her shoe. She slipped her foot out of it just as she was starting to feel its teeth grating at her toes, rose clumsily to her feet and ran to the kitchen. Well, she assumed it was the kitchen, but she had no idea where these Men expected to cook their food when all space for a fire was being taken over by various useless items. She looked around desperately for a sword, or a knife, or anything that could cut through flesh, and just as she grabbed a long kitchen knife she felt hands trying to hold onto her shoulders and she swung around, knife in hand. As if acting on its own accord, the blade swooshed through the air and cut a straight, deep line accross the Man's throat, ripping it open. The Man's blood and vocal cords and everything fell onto Arwen, but still he kept going, biting the air trying to get to her face. She was pushing him back with all her might, still holding her knife, but knew that if she let go of him to swing the blade again he would dive in and rip her face. He was so strong! She did not think to shout for help. All she thought of was, _please, I do not want to die, not now, I want to live, please let me live, I must see him again, I must meet my son!_ The image of the little boy who had been haunting her dreams, the boy who had her eyes and Aragorn's cheekbones, flashed before her eyes and Arwen found the strenght she desperately needed.

She managed to push the Man off of her, and, remembering what she had seen the others do, she greeted the Man with the tip of her blade as he walked back into her. The Man impaled himself onto the knife, its blade going through the eye and into his brain, and she let his lifeless body drop to the floor. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she smiled.

She was alive.

Looking up, Arwen saw that many dead Men were walking into the house, and she started hearing a great deal of movement and running around coming from upstairs. She knew the Istar was upstairs. She knew she was mortal. She knew she had to survive. Arwen jumped over the body at her feet, and ran to the stairs. She killed three more Men on the way, efficiently this time, with a slice through the brain, and, upon seeing that the stairs were crwaling with the dead Men she made her way outside. There were dozens of them, walking towards the house, and Arwen was vaguely aware of some sort of forgotten, but still smoking, remains from fireworks which she was sure had been there the night before. Her training was coming back to her now, and she cut easily through the dead that were coming at her. Their strenght lied in their number and their persistance, not in their fighting skills, and if there was one thing Elves had it was stamina. She swung the blade like a small sword, cutting and killing mercylessly and effectively. She could hear shouts and screams coming from the house, and she saw one of the boys, the blond one, running out of the house pushing the dead out of the way. Arwen tried to get to him but the dead enclosed around him and he disappeared behind them, his shouts chilling her to the bone, and the mass of tangled, rotting bodies fell to the floor and fed on what had once been a person. She heard loud bangs coming from upstairs, and guessed that the Eyes had been put to work.

Arwen stood there, not knowing what to do. She wanted to run, she had earned it after all, she was out, but could not bear the thought of leaving the Istar to her death. She heard more shouts and broken glass, and more bangs, and screams of pain, then a window on the second floor was broken by an arm, and Marzia tumbled out of it, rolled onto the roof, and off the roof, and onto a pile of wood and finally fell to the floor. A dead Man followed suite, landing on top of Marzia and immediately trying to get to her throat. Arwen sprung into action, and dived her blade into the Man's temple. She kicked him off Marzia then gripped the Istar's arm and pulled her to her feet with surprising strength, pulling her away from the house.

"MARZIA!"

They both turned, and saw the blond girl, Moira, crawling out of the window too, but there were two dead Men holding onto her, and one sunk his teeth into her neck. She screamed in pain, and Marzia let out a sob before raising her Eye and shooting, not at the Men, but at _Moira_, right between the eyes.

Arwen killed a Man who had tried sneaking up on them, then pulled a crying Marzia away, but the Istar resisted, though weakly, and said :

"Leonor, Leonor"

"Leonor is dead, Marzia look, there is no way we can get her out of there!"

The house was so full of dead Men that they were falling out of the windows like maggots off a carcass, and there were no more shouts nor bangs to be heard from inside. The whole house was humming with the dead's meaningless grunts. Arwen pulled Marzia away, and they ran. They dodged a few more dead Men, Arwen killed some, pulling an inconsolable Marzia behind her.

"Marzia, think, where is the sea? The sea, do you understand? The sea is our chance, where is the sea?"

The elleth was vaguely aware that she was shaking the Istar, and she thought that the poor thing looked like a small child then, with her crocodile tears and uncontrollable sobs.

"The sea!"

Marzia pointed at somewhere behind Arwen.

"Is it far?" Marzia shook her head, still crying.

"Come"

They set off running again, Arwen forcing Marzia on, refusing to let herself be touched by the human's tears. They did not have time. They ran and ran, Marzia seeming to gradually be getting a hold of herself, carrying her own weight and sobbing more softly, and eventually they burst through the trees and arrived on a beach.

"Was it this close all along?" Asked Arwen to no one in particular.

Still holding onto Marzia's arm, she walked onto the beach and towards the water, her one bare foot extremely aware of the coldness and wetness of the sand underneath it. When they got near the water, Arwen let Marzia drop to the floor and started pacing around, scanning the horizon for a sign of anything vaguely related to a boat, or a barge, or Mithrandir. Nothing.

"I do not understand," she said, "I do not understand, Mithrandir said to come to the sea, and that everything would fall into place. He said to..."

When Arwen abruptly stopped speaking, Marzia looked up through her tears. And froze. Arwen was gone. She was no longer on the beach. She was gone. Marzia was alone with the sound of the waves, the cold morning air, the grey light of dawn, and Arwen's clothes left on the wet sand.

She got up. Here they were, Arwen's clothes, in a pile, on the ground. Even the single bunny eared slipper. Arwen was gone. The knife she was been holding was in the sand, blade down and handle up, like it had just been dropped. And Arwen was nowhere to be found. She was gone. Marzia had no time to ponder over the extreme weirdness of it all, because something, if not stranger then at least just as unexpected, happened at that exact moment. _Fireworks_ went off at various spots along the edges of the beach, flying high up in the sky in a cacophony of bangs and whistles. Marzia stood frozen to the spot, too astonished to comprehend it all.

Then, sure enough, when the noise from the fireworks had quieted down, Marzia heard them. The grunts, the shuffling, the dead who, attracted by the bangs and the lights, were now coming in masses to the beach, and to the lone girl. Still unable to move, Marzia watched in horror as the dozens, the hundreds of zombies were walking onto the beach, tripping clumsily on the sand, then one spotted her and all of a sudden they all did.

She had nowhere to run.

They were litteraly pouring in masses onto the beach, and all there was was the sea behind her and the sky above her head. She looked down at the knife left on the floor and thought about it. But what would she do? Kill a thousand zombies?_ Kill one girl_, she thought, and realised that this was it. There was no way she would make it. Her only hope now was to kill herself before she was eaten alive. She picked up the knife. She had no clue how to do this. The zombies were walking towards her, some, the fresher ones, going much faster than others._ Ok, the wrist maybe_, she thought. She denied herself the right to sadness and fear and regrets, but allowed herself one last look at the world around.

The light had gone from grey to blue, and orange could be seen in the horizon. The waves were making the softest of noise. A bird flew past. Life would go on. One last look around confirmed that there was no way out, and then she saw _it_. The barge. There was a barge, or a small boat in any case, at the end of the beach, a few feet away.

_Has it been here all along?_

Nervetheless, it was there, it was tangible. Now the knife was not the only option. She cursed. Marzia's legs found a strength she never knew they possessed, and they carried her forward, along the beach, running in the soft sand as fast as she could manage, towards the barge. The zombies,she could hear, were getting nearer. The fresher ones were almost running as well, their grunts so loud she could no longer hear the waves. She ran. She was almost there. If she did not make it, she would bitterly regret not just choosing the knife, like a sensible person would have done. Like Fred, shooting himself back at the house, when it had become clear that they were being overrun.

Nearly there. Her lungs were burning, her eyes were watering, and still the zombies got nearer. She tripped onto something in the water and fell flat into it.

She clumsily got to her feet and, turning around, she saw that she had tripped some sort of very long wooden stick, more like a staff really, that was as long as she was if not longer. Two zombies, faster ones, were only a couple of metres away. Without her really acknowledging it, she dropped the knife and picked up the staff instead, swinging it above her head like she had any idea what she was doing, and hitting the first zombie so hard accross the face that it fell into the water, lifeless. The second zombie jumped at her and the staff pushed it back, then, ducking, Marzia swung the staff again and hit the zombies legs. It fell. Then without looking back, she knew there was another behind her, and the end of the staff found its eye and stabbed into it, and into its brains. The back of her legs hit something solid then, and she climbed into the barge backwards, as if she had known it was it all along. There was no motor in the barge, so she pushed it off the shore using the unbelieveably strong staff again, and withing seconds it was going into the sea, despite the waves. Most zombies had reached the water by then, and some were going for her, waist deep in water, some grasping onto her little boat. She hit them with the staff again, expertedly breaking skulls and knocking the intruders off. She plunged her new weapon into the water, right till her hands were in it too, and sure eniugh she felt the ground. She gave one last push and she was at sea.

The zombies' heads disappeared under water, and the barge wooshed away from the shore as if it was being towed away by some larger boat. Marzia stood on it, staff in hand. The shore was growing smaller, the zombies were becoming dots in the distance. The sun was rising, orange light burst out through the skies, seagulls were shouting victory. She laughed. Her legs gave in, she fell on her bottom, and still she laughed, and laughed.

The house, Arwen disappearing into thin air, the weird fireworks, the horde. She had survived, she had fought with a freaking staff like freaking Jet Li, and she had got away, she had survived, she was live and well and seagulls were laughing along with her and the Sun was shining bright and warm above her. The grunts of the dead could no longer be heard. She laughed.

_Leonor_.

The name rang in her mind like an alarm, and her laughter died. She looked to the shore, it was so far she could hardly see it.

Leonor, Leonor, where was she?

She had no way of getting back, and the barge kept going as if of its own will. Around her, only the sea. She was alone. The sun was rising higher up behind her, its light was starting to burn her head. She looked desperately around, searching for an escape, an end to the sea, but there was nothing. And then, she saw it, the third weirdest thing she had ever seen: a cloud, or a bunch of mist, some sort of foggy blanket was coming from the sea, and moving towards her and her barge, at a very fast pace. A supernatural pace. She looked around. She felt scared beyond all reason though did not know why, and still the fog advanced. She tried jumping out of the boat but her foot got tangled into a rope she had not noticed was there, and she fell back into the barge. The fog was there. She gripped her staff and closed her eyes. There was no light per say, just a soft glow through the mist. She thought she could see shapes floating in the water around her, though she could not make out quite what they were. Her barge had slowed down its cursed pace, and now floated by gently, surrounded by this cloud. There was silence.

Then she saw a darker, bigger shape ahead in the mist. It passed by her silently, and she saw that it was another barge, very similar to her own, all soft and defined curves. As it passed by, she saw that there was a man inside. A very tall man, it seemed, with a handsome face stilled by death, reddish blonde hair, strange, medieval looking clothes, and she saw that a great sword had been placed on his body, and his hands had been put around the tilt of the sword in a solemn pose. A broken horn lied next to him. His barge was going in the opposite direction to hers, back towards the beach. She stared, transfixed. She could have sworn she had seen his chest rising softly just before his barge disappeared into the fog.

She tore her gaze away and looked forward, she was vaguely aware of the fact that her thoughts were losing in clarity. She thought she could see land ahead. She felt tired. The tiny drops of mist were sticking to her eyelashes, and her eyes were slowly shutting. She still held the staff. She fell back, her head tilted back and hit the bottom of the little boat. The sky above her cleared. Light came back. The seagulls returned. She fell asleep.

In Rivendell, Arwen Undomiel jerked awake in her bed, startling her two brothers and father. She touched her gown and looked around her in disbelief.

"She's here! Aërriel, the Lady from the Sea!"

But her eyes could not find the one persons he wished to speak to.

"Where is Mithrandir? Father, tell me, where is Gandalf?"

Hundreds of miles away, deep into the forrest of Fangorn, the three hunters had found not Gandalf the Grey, but the White Wizard, and together they stood by the bank of the river Anduin, and they were waiting for a friend, had said the Istar. This friend would be brought at sunrise by Bain and Tilda of Dale, though they were not the same Tilda and Bain Gimli had immediately thought of. Descendants, they were. They stood there a while, Aragorn son of Arathorn rejoicing in the knowledge that his two hobbit friends were safe, Gimli son of Gloin glancing nervously at the great trees around them, Legolas son of Thranduil feeling his heart beat faster and faster though he knew not why, and the one people used to call Gandalf staring ahead in confidence. Then, one by one, the seagulls appeared, and cried, and the three travellers arrived.

"Our friend has come," said Gandalf, "and she is just on time."

END OF PART 1

**Riiiight, so this is it! End of part 1! Marzia is finally arriving in Middle Earth, she has found her staff, and who is it in that barge going back towards the beach?**

**Also, who set off all those fireworks?**

**Anyone guess who Bain and Tilda are?**

**Part 2 would be mostly set in Middle Earth and follow Marzia during the events of The Return of the King. It might also look at that man whose barge was going towards the beach. It will be a legomance.**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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